The Alcazar (The Cerulean Duology #2) - Amy Ewing Page 0,54

his mother. Though it did feel different, coming from Ambrosine.

“It’s almost like she’s alive again,” she said, turning away to hide her face in a sip of tea. “Almost.” Leo didn’t know what to say to that. When she turned back, she was composed.

“How do you think your father is handling the news of his children gone, his empire shattered, his most prized possession fled?”

“You knew?” Leo asked. “About the play? You knew about Sera already?”

She let out a biting, humorless laugh. “Don’t look so surprised; I make it my business to know the happenings in Kaolin, especially anything that concerns my grandchildren and that man.” She spat out the word like it was vulgar. “I saw her picture in the Old Port Telegraph, an advertisement for Xavier’s final production. Though I admit I did not think much of her, assuming she was some marketing prank of your father’s. Thankfully no one in Pelago cares about the goings-on in Kaolin. I am one of the few who reads the Old Port papers.” She cocked her head. “Your Pelagan is very good. I’m shocked your father allowed you to learn it.”

Leo shook his head. “He didn’t. The sailor Agnes befriended, the one who brought us to Arbaz. Vada. She taught us on the way.”

“Did she teach Sera as well?”

“No,” he said. “That’s just . . . a part of who she is.” He decided not to mention how recent a development it was.

“And she is linked to Braxos.”

Leo had never thought of it like the two were linked. “That’s one way to put it.” He tried then to explain who Sera was without giving away too much information. He had to admit, it was impressive that his grandmother didn’t flinch at the mention of a city in space.

“I’ve heard a great many strange tales in my life,” she said. “But never one about a Cerulean.” She sat back and crossed one leg over the other.

“Will you help us get her to Braxos?” Leo asked.

For a moment, Ambrosine was lost in thought. She added more honey to her tea and stared at the portrait on the wall as she stirred. “Yes,” she murmured. “I will help you.”

Leo’s head swam with relief. “Thank you.”

“The Triumvirate needs a good reminder of who they’re dealing with,” Ambrosine said. “Braxos is of the north and belongs to the north. They’ve sat too long on their western thrones. They cannot claim what is not rightfully theirs.”

Leo didn’t see how Braxos was rightfully Ambrosine’s either, regardless of geography, but felt it best not to say that out loud. For now, she was promising to help them, and that was all he could have hoped for.

“The Renalt won’t like that you attacked her daughter’s ship,” Leo said.

Ambrosine finally tore her eyes from the painting. “Did I give the impression that I care what the Renalt likes or dislikes?”

Leo’s face went hot. Talking to his grandmother felt like walking in a murky stream barefoot—he never knew when he might step on a jagged rock.

“Where are we going?” he asked, changing the subject.

She raised an eyebrow. “Why, to Culinnon, of course. Aren’t you excited to see your true home?”

Leo wasn’t sure he’d phrase it that way. As far as he could tell, at the moment he had no home. Not the brownstone on Creekwater Row or the mysterious island in the north of Pelago. He didn’t seem to belong anywhere.

“I didn’t know Culinnon existed until we came here,” he said. “My father never told us anything about you, or my mother, or Pelago. We weren’t even allowed to mention your name in our house.”

Ambrosine slammed her cup down onto its saucer. “That beastly man,” she muttered. “I should not be surprised that Xavier kept her from you. He kept her from me as well. He wasn’t fit to shine her shoes, much less father the next heir to Culinnon.” She pursed her lips and examined his face again. Leo wished she wouldn’t. It made him feel like she was giving him a test and he was coming up short.

“You know,” she said, “Alethea was my greatest love. I loved her more than my husband or my sons or any of the lovers I have taken over the years. And she was ripped from me, violently and completely. The unfairness of it has been difficult to bear at times, I admit. The pain of her loss. I can still remember the night she was born, on the estates of Culinnon where all